A Mango A Day...

Eleven months out of the year we are avocado wealthy. My father-in-law brings them home by the bag-full from the various trees on the ranch where he farms. And those are just the ones he picks up off the ground. Occasionally Hernan will go out there and climb up in the trees to bring home a whole box of them. It's almost always season for one variety or another, and we nearly always have avocados on hand for every meal.

This time of year is the one exception. For about a month we don't have any. If we get desperate we could always buy some from a shop, but we're too spoiled most of the year to do that. So we take an avo break.

To make up for this lack, I've decided that the month of June will be dedicated to a different fruit. Mangoes, you see, are in season.

I've resolved to eat mango every day for the month of June. It's my duty, as I see it.

Day four, so far so good.

Living in San Juan isn't all bad, I guess.

The Beverage

I believe that we all experience certain moments in life, during which we see our lives with exceptional clarity. Suddenly, events will unfold in a certain way, and we're granted a brief opportunity for unclouded reflection on our experiences. It is during these times that we are able to confront ourselves with the honesty of our true desires, and it is with the lingering memory of this realization that we are able to align our behavior with these desires, empowering us to experience greater satisfaction and integrity.

I recently had such an experience. It was while lying in a thick pile of dead leaves and cow manure on top of a mountain, miles from my shower, with my naked ass voiding itself in one direction, and my abused mouth doing the same in the other, and, between the two, my stomach playing some kind of evil game of organ Twister, that I looked up at the stars above and thought, "I could really use a glass of lemonade."

Yesterday morning, barely recovered from the food poisoning activities of the night before, while carrying my backpack and sleeping mat back down the mountain on my wobbly spaghetti-legs, I woozily recalled the epiphany, and since then it hasn't left my thoughts. I would still like a glass of lemonade.

Actually, I very specifically want a glass of Santa Cruz brand lemonade OR the lemonade they serve at a restaurant in Palo Alto, because it is gently flavored with rose water, and roses smell like delicious.

Now, the rose-y lemonade I can't get, but the jar of Santa Cruz lemonade is available at Super Lake, the fancy pants import grocery store out east of Ajijic. I could take the bus over there and buy it, but my innate miser refuses to shell out the money for such an extravagance. Why should I pay all that money that my broke ass doesn't have when I could just stay here in town and make perfectly good limeade?

But here's the beautiful part of my conundrum. So long as I hold out and don't get this glass of delicious, thirst-quenching marvel of a beverage, I've got my life by the balls. You know? If someone asks me what I lack, I don't have to say "a job" or "community" or "the opportunity to live in my own country with my husband" or even something unobtainable, like "a super-sized trampoline" or "my very own velociraptor". See? All I have to say is, "Gosh, I could really use a glass of lemonade."

Beer In A Bag: My Trip To San Luis Soyatlán

In Mexico it's quite common to drink beverages out of clear plastic bags: juice, choco milk, tejuino.

In all cases, the bevvy is poured into a bag, a straw is thrown in, and a rubber band ties the bag closed around the straw.

Never had I had beer out of a bag, though, not until a little trip to San Luis Soyatlán.

San Juan Soyatlán is another town on Lake Chapala, but on the south shore. It's roughly across the lake from us here in San Juan Cosalá.



As you may notice, San Juan Cosalá is not on this map. This is because nobody is interested in coming here. San Juan is between Ajijic and Jocotepec, over on the northwest shore.

Anyway, back to the discussion of beer... there's a quite popular street stand there on the main drag through town. It's popular probably because of the sheer quantity of liquid they dish out.

Alright, so here's how to order, in case you find yourself thirsty in San Luis.

(1) Locate the booth. This should be easy to do. Just look for a long line of well dressed Guadalajara people looking excited.

(2) Get in line and begin contemplating whether you want to drink a "small" or your own weight in liquid.

(3) When a spunky woman approaches you yelling, holler out "chico" or "grande", but don't bother specifying what drink you actually prefer. That comes later. She will hand you a small or large plastic bag, which you should then open and hold out in preparation for step (4).

(4) Someone will walk down the line pouring ice into the plastic bags. Have yours ready, and hold it open with both hands.

(5) When you finally pass by the fifty-odd crates of rotting produce that precede the drink counter, you are ready to order your drink. The Vampiro is a tequila and fruit juice mix. Micheladas are like a Mexican Bloody Mary: beer and clemato and pepper, and whatever else they throw in.

(6) Keep waiting. Yes, step (6) is to keep waiting, because so far they've only given you the mix. You don't yet have any alcohol in your bag, so don't start sipping away yet. Stay in line.

(7) After proceeding past the sliced fruit and about two hundred wasps, you arrive at the other end of the counter. Now you need to hold open your bag again so that the man at the cash box can pour in either tequila or beer. If you order a michelada, as I did, you'll be getting a whole caguama poured in.

(8) Pay. And Enjoy.


And for good measure, here's a picture of my baby admiring his mama's drinking skills.

Piggie-Glutton

I love food. Now that I'm rich (which you should understand to mean "no longer so poor that I can't afford flour") I decided to go out to dinner with my man candy last night. I'd been sick for two weeks and had finally won my stomach back from the Dark Side. Thus I had already eaten all the food in the house, and there was nothing left for dinner except a box of corn starch and some weird fruit drink that Hernan likes. I do not enjoy fruit drink, and the corn starch was a little dry, so when Hernan got home I told him we were going out.

We don't go out much, on account of the poverty, but having people bring me delicious food is one of my favorite things in this great world or ours.

We headed to Ajijic, where there are many restaurants, and tried a new place that had been recommended to us. We ordered drinks and a pizza and then devoured the complementary bowl of popcorn. When the pizza arrived, we exchanged looks because it clearly would not be enough. We had already waited a good while for it, so ordering another wasn't going to work.

"Let's stop for tacos on the way home." I said while stuffing a cracker-sized "slice" into my mouth.

"Yeah, we're going to the place on the highway."

"Good. That's what I had in mind."

Fifteen minutes later Hernan had a plate of tacos and I had two tortas. The pizza was a tasty appetizer.

Small-portion restaurants are such teases. They should really put a warning on the menu, or preferably at the entrance, "Caution: We serve teeny-tiny portions fit only for people who don't like food very much. One order wouldn't even satisfy your seven month-old giganto-baby. Be advised that if you are a piggie-glutton you will need to order three or four dishes. Five, if you're a nursing mom. Six, if you're nursing a giganto-baby. Thank you."

Borderline Mushy Thank You Post

This is one big thank you shout out to our hook ups. In so many ways Hernan and I scored big time when we made friends with our friends. It turns out they're pretty much just wonderful people. Besides being kind, funny, intelligent, and all-round amazingly kick-ass people, they further impress us by (look a list!)

(1) not having forgotten who we are ("Baby-who?").
(2) Forgiving me for being a lazy correspondent. (I promise I'll write you soon.)
(3) Sending/bringing presents like baby clothes and toys and food and books and liquor. (And I'm not even drunk right now.)
(4) Even sometimes reading my boring-as-all-hell blog and then telling me about it so I don't feel like such an ass for blogging about dust. (Dust for crying out loud!)

Oh, and (5) tolerating unsolicited lectures about linguistics. (You're troopers.)

Obviously, it's the love and support that means the most to us. I really think I don't have to say that. But if I wrote about how much all these beautiful people mean to me then this'll really turn into a mush-fest, and that ain't pretty. So, I'll tell you instead about today.

It's been raining so hard here yesterday and today (uh... dry season?) that Hernan wasn't able to go work today. Something about pouring concrete in the rain not working... So he was super antsy pants and depresso. I call him my delicate tropical flower for a reason. He sure gets moody in the rain (and yet wants to move to Vancouver or Portland...?) So he was Mr. Depressy Head and a pain to be around. Mopey McMopey Pants. Until I turned his day around with Super Magic Food Powers (SMFP).

Ramen. Thanks to our friend who in all awesomeness provided us with ramen bounty. No, really, you win. Well, actually, it was us who won.

Ramen + The Devil Makes Three + pirated dvds (thanks to our music/dvd hookup) = ramen-filled Baby dancing around the house the whole rest of the day.

We changed Hanix's diaper (one of many, many gifts from my mom), popped him in clothes from a friend, he played with a toy that used to be my niece's, I wrapped him in a blanket from another friend and now he's alseep. Hernan is reading a book my dad gave me (Confessions of an Economic Hit Man) and in a minute we're busting out that sweet bottle of gin (thank you for that, too!)

Yeah, yeah, so stuff isn't everything. But it sure can be nice sometimes. It's not the only way our friends and family show us they haven't forgotten us. It's just a way that made today so nice.

And get this. In his ramen-induced euphoria, Hernan even exclaimed, "Baby, you're right up there with Halu."

Now, we all know this is not true, because we are talking instant ramen here. Sure, I threw in some fresh veggies, seaweeds, spices, and crack cocaine, but we all know the poor man has just been away too long. He's out of touch.

However, the ramen really did turn his day around. He even washed up after.

After his mom went back downstairs.

So thanks, y'all.

Speaking of Tongues

I posted some time ago about the mamey fruit. Today I'm pleased to discover that mamey can also mean muscled out or oral sex. Thanks Effective Swearing.

Anyone have a good idea how much slang and swearing differ between D.F. and Guadalajara? Hernan's taught me pretty well to have a Spanish potty mouth, but he won't like it if I start sounding like a chilanga.

The Best Cheese Man Ever

It would seem that my happiness can almost be guaranteed by the simple combination of two great things: free and food.

Yes, "free" plus "food" equals "happy" about ninety percent of the time.

This is why my Thursdays are always filled with a trip to The Best Cheese Man Ever in Jocotepec's weekly market.

I like to consider The Best Cheese Man Ever to be my friend, even though we know one another not at all. He recognizes me as "La Güerita" with the baby, and plies me with many generous free samples. I buy about five kilos worth of cheese and yogurt, and sometimes pan dulce or chorizo. He cuts me a good deal and always throws in a little extra of something, and he's not the least bit smarmy about it. My Thursday afternoons are then spent eating cheese.

What's not excellent about that?

So if you're in the hood, go to the Jocotepec tianguis, he's the first (not the second) cheese man on the left when coming from the plaza. You'll know him because his yogurt is in bags while The Other Cheese Man sells his in plastic tubs. Also, you'll soon be handed all manner of dairy delights within moments of stopping in front of his table. He's The Best Cheese Man Ever, what more can I say?

Poor Food Choices

Sometimes when I'm hungry (read: always) and the kitchen is bare I do ridiculous, misguided things with food.

Example: I was living in Budapest but hadn't yet gotten the hang of grocers closing up shop Saturday afternoon and not reopening until Monday morning. I was used to 24 hour food access. So I forgot to stock the cupboard and lo and behold, by Sunday night I was desperate. So. I made pancakes. Except all I had was flour and water and salt. Come and get 'em!

Example 2: I once cooked a package of pasta by frying it instead of boiling and then frying (the latter option is delicious). It was a hunger-induced mistake. Don't ever do this. I ate about 2/3 of the results before a housemate intervened on behalf of my stomach.

Example 3: Limes + old tortillas + serrano chiles does not equal "casserole". Nuf said.

My other trouble is that I keep trying to bake even though I'm no baker. I shouldn't really migrate from the stove top. It's that I try to bake the way I cook, and I never cook with a plan. I constantly fuss with the food (because I'm impatient and hungry) and add additional ingredients, and then throw in leftovers, and then add more cumin, and then decide an egg would add some protein, and then maybe throw in some chile peppers, to "liven it up"... and it usually works out ok when I'm cooking, but that's not the way to bake, it would seem.

So, this brings me to Example 4. I've been going through a crisis this week because I really want cookies but I have no butter. I can't find any butter in San Juan, because it's a luxury item and all they sell is lard and margarine, and I'm on my snobby high horse this week and don't want margarine cookies. Actually I did make margarine cookies, and I ate them (of course I did!), but I was left disappointed because for some reason the margarine flavor, at least the kind for sale in the shop next door, just puts me off. So, snobbery admitted, I wanted non-margarine cookies.

I found a no-butter cookie recipe that seemed quite good. I almost managed to follow the recipe, and the cookies turned out almost really good. But I made so much that I had leftover batter. No problem, save it for later. Until later: I get hungry, think "I'll make some more of those banana almond cookies" and decide that I'll throw in the leftover french toast mix with the cookie batter (start shaking your head here), because milk and eggs and cinnamon are tasty, right? And then it's too liquid-y, so I toss in a handful of flour and some ground almonds, and some chocolate shavings and some more cinnamon and stir it up and then throw in some salt, because salt makes anything taste good (no it doesn't) and then mix it up and pour it on a cookie sheet and think I'm so, so clever. (Continue to shake your head.)

And yes, I'm eating the results right now. I wouldn't say "good", but I would say "it's a good think I resisted 'livening them up' with chiles".

It's not quite an apple pie substitute, but... I'm now finishing off the last one, so I suppose this wasn't a complete flop.

I guess I need to learn to always begin preparing food before I reach hunger-crisis moment. Or have more snacks on hand. And maybe to just stay away from the oven.

Beer: We Meet Again

My sister-in-law is moving to the US (lucky!) and to send her off we went out for beer.

During my pregnancy a microbrewery opened up in Ajijic, tempting me with its beery allure. (the post) I abstained, but planned to fit in a frothy pint as soon as I could squeeze one in between nursing. However! Evil Beer Temptress up and closed down just about the time Hanix was born. Total Fail.

Yet, we discovered that the Ajijic local was just a venture by the established microbrewery in Tlaquepaque (near Guadalajara). So, we rounded up the fam and headed to The Beer Lounge. http://www.beerlounge.com.mx/ We were my sister-in-law, her eight-year-old son, my brother-in-law, his wife and 2 month old baby, my mother-in-law and Hernan and Hanix and me. Three cheers for babies in bars?

This was my first trip to Tlaquepaque, which is sort of a style-y swank area being eaten up by Guadalajara. The Beer Lounge was totally decent, though I was suspicious of their fruit beers. If I wanted to eat a pineapple, I’d eat a pineapple. I drink beer, because I like beer. Don’t mess with it. But maybe I was only unwilling to venture into Fruit Beer Land because it had been so long since I’d had a “real” beer, and that’s what I had come to drink.

I had a porter. It was delicious. I had just one, because after 10 months of no alcohol I’m a total light weight.

The bar played internationally recognized songs by Michael Jackson, Pink Floyd, the Beatles, and so forth. That was fine with me; it was a nice break from banda.

So, will we be going again? Aye.

Beer, it’s nice to get to know you again.

Beer

Big news! There is a microbrewery. Yes. In Ajijic. It's new. I don't know if it's any good. I hope they have something dark, and actually dark, not these so-called "dark" lies like Negra Modelo.

We tried to go today, but they're closed Sundays. Soon.

This is big. Microbreweries are not exactly big in Mexico. In the stores, mostly all you can buy is Mexican beer. Coronas, Modelos, Estrella... I'm holding out hope for a nice, full oatmeal stout. I can slip one in between nursing sessions, right?

Family Pool Party

Walking around San Juan Cosalá, one doesn’t think of luxury, at least not in the way I used to think of luxury. Standards get lowered, what can I say? And yet, behind many of the stone and brick walls, some covered in the graffiti of the local gangs, there are hidden oases of luxury: lawn, swimming pools, lakefront vistas. I never suspected.

These are the “country homes” of wealthy Guadalajara residents. As I understand it, most of these houses have been owned a long time by wealthy city people: doctors, lawyers, drug dealers. The new-wave moneyed people, mostly Americans and Canadians, eschew town-living and instead own the modern homes up the hill in the gated community, the Racquet Club.

I stumbled into one of these casas del campo yesterday. Hernan’s aunt and uncle are long-time caretakers of two such houses in town. Yesterday we had a family pool party in the backyard of one of them. Pretty sweet. Cousins, kids, babies… not all relatives showed up (would that be half the town??), but we were a sizable group.

San Juan has no parks, but it felt like that’s where we were yesterday. The large lawn slopes down to the lake (which I like to pretend is the ocean), and there are plants and flowers everywhere. We made carne asada, with fixings: tortillas, pinto beans, nopales, guacamole, and some tiny, spicy chiles. (Robin, I’m sorry I didn’t have my camera with me.)

The pool was filled by pumping thermal waters from one of the three property wells, which means the water was really hot and no one wanted to get in until about eight o’clock at night.

I actually really enjoy these large family get-togethers, especially when they take place outside (and with a pool!), instead of in front of the tv, as per usual. One-on-one conversations are still pretty hard for me to maintain, but in a large group the pressure is off. Also, being one of a group allows me to mimic the reactions of the other participants, so I know when to laugh or when to look scandalized. People don’t really like it when you mix those two up and give them the wrong reaction to their story.

Hernan and his kid brother wrestled in the lawn. Babies, women, and teenagers hung out by the pool. Older relatives relaxed in the shade. Three cheers for family fun time.

Final mystery question: how was it possible that we were all able to show up at 4:00 on a Wednesday? I don’t know. Maybe everyone else is unemployed, too. I’m not sure. Mysterious.

Pitaya Picking

Today we went to pick pitayas in the mountains. First we rode our bicycles out to el rancho, my father-in-law's farm.

I would like you to picture a nine month pregnant me on her pink mountain bike, riding through a light rain in San Juan Cosalá. I would like you to picture this because it sure felt ridiculous, and I can only hope the image is equally comical. If it makes it any funnier, I can share that because of my big belly, I had to pedal with my legs angled out to the sides, the way, one could say, a clown might ride a miniature tricycle.

At his farm, my father-in-law grows chayotes (squash) and calabazas (more squash). He was plowing the field when we got there - with a team of mules! Yep, just like the pictures in middle school history books, with equipment that is now dated enough in the US to be displayed in museums. It really looked like hard work.

Hernan's teenage brother, cousin, some other dude, and 8 year-old nephew were already at the ranch. Hernan and I joined them there. They fashioned a fruit picker out of some wire and long bamboo-like poles that grow nearby. Pretty resourceful. I've started to consider Hernan the Mexican MacGyver. You give the man some wire, a small piece of wood and a machete and he'll fashion you a wine cooler. Or maybe a lawn chair.

Properly equipped, we walked up into the mountains to find the huge pitaya cacti that grow there.

The pitaya cacti are huge tree-like plants, which become covered in spikey pitaya fruits this time of year. We encountered red and yellow pitayas, although apparently pink, purple and white also used to be very common in the mountains.

Some unknown puppy joined us. It felt like we were a band of boys and their dog, just like in some wholesome children's movie, up in the mountains on some innocent childhood adventure, until suddenly we are confronted with the bank robbers camped out in a cave, or else we discover what real friendship means, or maybe we just weather a bad storm and eventually return home. Something cheesy like that. Except I'm a big pregnant woman, and mostly we just picked pitayas.

Still, it was a delicious summertime adventure, and I really enjoyed my reunion with my bicycle.

Bagels

I'm always hungry. This is something I like to blame on the baby, but we all know that "hungry" is just my default state of existence. I might try to make bagels today, because I miss me a good bagel. I even noticed cream cheese for sale in the fancy-pants grocery store in San Antonio. I'm pretty sure I should be able to whip these up no problem, because, after all, I have a lot of experience with play dough. I'm pretty good with the making of long "snakes" of dough and then making those into loops, so I reckon bagel making will be the same.

Still, if you have ever done this, or have a recipe, or are in possession of secret bagel-making tips, please share. I have to make pre-breakfast first, anyway, so the bagels might not appear until much later today.

Wish I had a cinco de mayo party to go to

I did go back to ACA the other day, but perhaps I arrived at an off time, because no one much was around. I didn’t, therefore, get a chance to find out more about the organization or to convince anyone that they need my super farming skills. So I bought a bag of salad greens and left. I still consider this a success, because the lettuce is pretty tasty, and way better than the funky, old iceberg lettuce available in town.

After that I tried to walk to Jocotepec, but I got tired of the air pollution and the harassment from drivers passing by and was worried I’d never find a public restroom, so I decided to take a bus back home. Home is where the heart is? Nope. Home is where my bathroom is.

So I ventured out again yesterday and made it to Jocotepec, this time by bus. After visiting eight (8) shops, and asking all kinds of strangers for help, I finally managed to find (1) yeast for bread making, (2) baking soda, (3) spinach. The spinach looked like it had a had a rough life, so I left it there, and I wasn’t able to find cardamom, which I never really expected to. Still, a great victory.

And yes, I’m counting lettuce and baking soda as victory and success in my life. What of it? That’s just Ms. Optimism Me.

Also during my excursion, a shop owner tried to rip me off and give me back less money than I was owed. He even tried to trick me with a false receipt. Too bad for him I know a thing or two about maths, even maths in Spanish, and in the end he gave me my money. Then asked me to leave.

That’s about as exciting as life gets here. Today is cinco de mayo – I’m pretty sure no one here does anything to celebrate, since it’s basically an American holiday. So enjoy on my behalf the side of Mexico I don’t get down here – pitchers of margaritas, burritos, parties. I’ll just hang out and watch the mountain continue to burn.



This is the view from our place - the Modelorama (beer store) is directly across the highway from us. It's such a waste I can't better take advantage of it.

Fruit

Fruit is important. And usually delicious.

Today is brought to you by the fruit: pitaya

To come clean, today was not the first time I tried a pitaya. I think I tried a pitaya once in Okinawa, though it could have been once in Tokyo when my friend's grandmother shipped her a box of pineapple and mango from Okinawa. I do remember thinking at first that it was a rice ball with black sesame seeds - that's how it looked, a white, ball-shaped fruit speckled with black seeds.

And I'm certain I tried a pitaya in June 2005, my first time to Mexico. It was the end of the season, though, and the pickings were slim.

Now, though, pitaya season is just getting started here, and yesterday marked our first sampling of the fruit. They're an excellent delight, and a way to pass the time until the mangoes and avocados finish ripening.

Pitayas are spiky fruits that grow on cacti, and are native to Mexico (and may grow in Okinawa too...?).



The inside flesh looks like a brain, or intestines, or noodles, or something weird like that. It's all squirrely. They also come in all colors: white, red, pink, orange, yellow.



They're pretty tasty. They're not too sweet, but very fresh tasting. Quite refreshing in this heat we're experiencing. And the texture is not at all offensive. Because they're soft, one doesn't really notice the funny squiggliness.

They are, actually, much tastier than mamey. If one were to compose a fruit graph, say, the pitaya would be slightly more difficult to eat, on account of the spikes, but much higher up on the tasty scale.



On my fruit graph, pitayas fall between seeded grapes and peaches. Mamey, however, is easier to eat than grapefruit, but about as not tasty.

This graph, is adapted from http://xkcd.com/388/ on the site http://ealingwoodcraft.org.uk/fruit/index.php

You can disagree with my fruit assessments, sure, but you'll be mistaken.

Crazy and Bad People Who Need Time Outs

If you're in the mood to shake your head in disbelief, I recommend reading this:

http://blogs.discovermagazine.com/badastronomy/2009/04/26/neocarbon/

It contains a Youtube video of Representative Michele Bachman (R - MN) making no sense about carbon dioxide. I would just post a link to the video, but this blog already covers most all of the witty remarks I would make about it.

She basically states that because carbon dioxide occurs naturally ("is a natural byproduct of nature" is how she puts it, I believe, "carbon dioxide is natural. It occurs in Earth." Then she blathers on about how we all need it, even the plants and the vegetation. "As a matter of fact, carbon dioxide is portrayed as harmful." And then follows up with "nature, natural, nature, Earth, naturally, nature, nature, natural, Earth, nature, natural..." Clearly, carbon dioxide could not possibly be harmful (because naturally occurring = good?) and also could not be produced by humans. I need to stop quoting her, because pretty much every word out of her mouth is absurd. So just watch the video.


If you need more, consider this:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/bonnie-fuller/hate-mongering-conservati_b_192412.html

This is a gem: "'What better way to sneak a virus into this country than to give it to Mexicans....then spread a rumor there there are construction jobs here, and there they come,' blathers Boortz."

It is now obvious to me that Islamic terrorists developed a new flu virus, released it in Mexico City, and then persuaded infected individuals to spread it to the US by illegally crossing the border in pursuit of promised construction jobs.

Clearly!

Besides the questions posed in this post, I would like to ask whether the terrorists also promised Mexicans construction jobs in Spain, New Zealand, and all the other countries in the world with confirmed cases of swine flu.


I'm always newly amazed...

Otherwise, I'll just say that our mountain is still on fire and I spent the afternoon making cookies with my nephew-in-law.

Kelp, Face Masks, Bus Drivers, and Flames

I should invent a funny story or joke about kelp, face masks, bus drivers and flames, but I’m not that clever. Instead I’ll just post commentary about my day yesterday. However, the clever among you may endeavor to spin a funnier story from those four elements, and I’ll reward the winner with applause and compliments.

Yesterday, instead of returning to Jaltepec to try again at ACA, I decided to go buy groceries at the Rich People Fancy-Pants Import Store in San Antonio: SuperLake. This is where one can find luxury items like asparagus and whole wheat flour. Or Oreos and Skittles, if that’s what you fancy.

I have mixed feelings about the place. On the one hand, I much prefer to shop here than at the new Wal-Mart that popped up a few months ago, which has since gained great popularity and has been successful at broadcasting how it offers lower prices, strengthens community, and helps families. These are the only two places where I can find many of the foods I so dearly want, and I choose SuperLake.

On the other hand, shopping at SuperLake is like being left alone in a room with a chocolate cake that belongs to someone else. I can’t afford a lot of the temptations I see on the shelves – like the tiny $29 jar of almond butter. Though, to extend this analogy, just as I would probably try to swipe a little of the chocolate frosting from the side of the cake, such that surely no one will notice, I occasionally tell my financially responsible self to look the other way while I throw something pricey into the shopping basket. Yesterday’s frosting: fresh tofu. It’s the first time I’ve seen it down here. I can hardly believe it. How could I not buy it??

So, I bought one small bag of groceries, which cost a week’s wages, if I were even employed, that is.

On my trip there and back, I noticed that locals have begun to wear face masks. I figure it’s only a matter of days before our area becomes as quiet as Mexico City, where news footage shows public life has virtually come to a halt.

On this topic, life here continues to be dominated by swine flu. Everyone is waiting to hear of the first confirmed cases in the state – probably in Guadalajara or Puerto Vallarta. All the local festivities that are coming up, including a number of May Day parties and a local food festival, have been cancelled, and now the government is telling pregnant and nursing women to stay at home and to not go to work.

I left the house anyway, as I was saying, not to go to work, because I remain gainlessly unemployed, but to pursue my hobby, grocery shopping.

It was on my way to San Antonio that I decided to share a little more with you about how great buses are.

One of the local bus lines:
(I took from http://www.sail-puravida.com/photo.htm)

First, dispense with the idea that buses run on any kind of schedule, or that you have any way of discovering when buses run, where they go, or when they might stop running. Naturally, there is no posted information, in part because there are no bus stops, but also because that’s just not the kind of thing we do here in Mexico. That would be like posting street signs – entirely unnecessary. Anyway, if we went to the trouble of posting information, we’d also have to put in all the work to make sure the information was inaccurate or at least presented in a misleading way. It would be a lot of unnecessary work.

Hailing a bus is kind of like hailing a cab, you leap into the street, jump up and down and waive an arm in the air. Sometimes, though, the buses won’t take you where you want them too, which is why it’s important to state your destination when you board. This provides the driver the opportunity to growl at you if he doesn’t like your destination, and you can quickly disembark. In general, though, buses will stop pretty much anywhere to let passengers on or off.

My favorite part of taking the bus is, without a doubt, the drivers. They really make the experience. Bus drivers eat, smoke cigarettes, flirt with passengers, yell obscenities at other drivers, hold long cell phone conversations, and pretty much do whatever they want while driving. Sometimes they play their favorite song on repeat on the stereo. I’ve been on a bus that scared a horse, and consequently suffered a cracked windshield. I’ve had a driver side-swipe a building, and, no, not stop. I’ve had drivers stop to buy snacks from street vendors. And I’ve had countless drivers navigate in reverse for multiple blocks because they couldn’t fit the bus past a parked vehicle on a narrow street.

So it was no surprise when yesterday’s driver, on the way to San Antonio, stopped the bus to chat with an associate. The driver eventually exited the bus to conduct some kind of business, it was unclear what kind. He was gone five minutes or more, and we all just waited, as did the vehicles behind us. Probably he had some kind of an emergency, like seeing his friend’s new truck or placing a bet on a soccer match.

The driver on the way back from San Antonio, however, was even more fun. Unlike many of the local drivers that decorate their buses with rosaries, crucifixes and the Virgin of Guadalupe, this man had chosen Disney stickers and girlie posters, which is, I think, a natural combination. Also, he had a custom stereo system, which allowed him to blast his favorite dancehall ballads, effectively transforming his bus into a discotheque. He even picked up a few cute women along the way, to lean on his shoulders and laugh at his jokes. Why not, I guess.

Drivers can really add a little pizzazz to an otherwise mundane trip.

To be clear, though, these are local buses. There are fewer options for local travel. For distance travel by bus, one can choose luxury lines, which are very comfortable and do not allow chickens on board. In truth, I find the bus system down here to be much better than in the US. Buses run frequently and go basically anywhere. They’re very affordable too. Because many people don’t have cars, the bus system is very… what’s the word? Robust.

In other news, our mountain is on fire. It’s been hot, highs in the mid to upper 30s (upper 90s in Fahrenheit), and dry. Something set a spark yesterday, and various parts of the mountain burned all day and through the night. The smoke has been really terrible, but seeing the flames from our window was kind of neat. No one is very alarmed, which is probably because all the building are constructed of brick, concrete, and adobe. Floods are a bigger concern than fire here. And I hope I haven’t just invited disaster, because the rainy season should begin within the next few weeks…

ACA Part I, Swine Flu Part II

I decided to leave the house today, which is kind of a big deal. It’s not that my house is that much fun, it’s that not-my-house isn’t. There isn’t really anywhere interesting or particularly pleasant to go, so mostly I end up at grocery stores, hardware stores, and the local paint shop. Just “going out” isn’t much fun either, not between the terrible air pollution, the litter and burning garbage, and the horn honking of men driving by. On that last point, apparently I don’t look 8 months pregnant from behind. Or maybe men here just aren’t that picky. In any case, when I don’t have groceries or hardware to buy, I have to devise reasons to get out. Today’s reason: visit ACÁ. http://ggs.com.mx/aca.html

ACÁ, Asociacion Comunitaria de Autosuficiencia, is a local NPO that fosters community self-sufficiency through organic agricultural training programs. It sounds like a fantastic organization, and my plan is to go there, discover amazing organic produce, and convince them to let me work there too, probably as a volunteer or maybe an intern. If it takes a while to convince them, I might just hang around a lot for a while until eventually someone let’s me get involved.

I’m pretty much beside myself with shock that this exists here. It’s the kind of organization I (half jokingly) told myself I wanted to start down here myself. To find something already here, and working, is wonderful. I’m excited to discover them.

So I left the house by 8:00 this morning, because the day rapidly becomes insufferably hot. I was disappointed when I finally arrived in Jaltepec (a small town between San Juan Cosalá and Jocotepec) and discovered that they hadn’t opened yet. I considered waiting around a while, but my need for sanitary facilities motivated me right back home again. Hooray for pregnancy! I might try again tomorrow.

I decided to walk there and back, because mostly the only exercise I get is going up and down the house staircase and my frequent trips to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Once I’m out of San Juan, I can walk along the ciclopista, the bike path, that runs along the highway. I’m a big fan of the ciclopista. Even if it’s regularly blocked by sand, gravel, horses (both with and without riders), goats, cows, firewood-laden burros, four-wheelers, mopeds, backhoes, men carrying large tree limbs, and the occasional parked vehicle, the concrete divide between me and drunk drivers makes up for it all and is the reason for my fondness.

I hoped to see something entertaining on my way, to share with you all, because I so often do encounter something wonderful, but as I was prepared with camera today, nothing presented itself. Here, though, is a shot of my route, which includes, from left to right, the paved highway, my friend the concrete divide, the ciclopista, and litter.



Here, too, is a picture of Lake Chapala and the mountain on the other side.



Meanwhile, as you’re probably aware, swine influenza is spreading in Mexico, and throughout the world, too, I hear. I don’t know what the popular sentiment is in the US, but down here, people are pretty scared. That’s probably because only Mexico has experienced swine flu mortality so far. Last I heard, there are 149 deaths suspected to be caused by swine flu. For some reason, the virus seems more severe down here.

The federal government has ordered all schools in the entire country closed, at least until May 6th. Many of the restaurants, bars and nightclubs in the country have joined the libraries, museums, and theaters in closing. The biggest sign that this is being taken quite seriously is that soccer matches have been closed to the public. Some big games have been played without a fan in the bleachers.

Yet, many still attended mass yesterday.

So far, there are no confirmed cases in my state of Jalisco.

In other news, Mexico City, home of most of the swine flu cases in the country thus far, also suffered a 6.0 earthquake this morning. No great damage was suffered, but that offers yet another reason I’m glad I don’t live in the capital.

Shopping in Jocotepec

San Juan Cosalá is small. I may have mentioned this before. “Village” is the right term. This means that I must venture to other towns to do some of my shopping. This is true not only when I’m shopping for exotic items like spinach and unsweetened yoghurt, but also when I’m shopping for things like dried beans.

Wednesdays I go to Ajijic and shop at the produce market there, so today for my non-produce purchases, I went west instead to Jocotepec. I like to mix things up. Keep it fresh.

Here’s a map, so you can get your bearings. Print this and keep it handy in case you need to come visit some day.



San Juan Cosala is roughly in the middle, on the north shore of the lake. East of San Juan you find Ajijic and San Antonio (where the spendy import store is), and then Chapala. West, you find Jocotepec. There are some other small towns in between, but you don’t see them here. The road leading north from Chapala goes to Guadalajara. This is from Google Maps, by the way.

To catch a bus, I went and stood in front of our house and waited about 15 minutes. Buses stop basically anywhere, in the middle of the road, or where have you. It’s convenient, but also annoying when passengers have the driver stop, oh, pretty much every half block. I’ve been getting good at catching buses, though. I feel I have the right arm salute for flagging them down, and they pretty much never pass me by anymore.

So I jumped on the first bus to pass by and even found a seat. Once in Jocotepec, I found the plaza and started scoping tiendas for good prices. Walking through the plaza, I was really surprised to see a banner advertising Okinawan karate.



The teacher even has a Japanese name and might even be Japanese. This is fascinating, because mostly everyone down here is Mexican, with a splash of white Americans and white Canadians (mostly in Ajijic). I’m considering posing as a potential student to discover whether anyone might actually be from Okinawa. Probably the growing watermelon under my shirt will ruin the disguise, but it’s worth a try, no? Maybe I could don a mustache and pretend I want to start karate to work off this beer gut.

It’s pretty silly really, what would I say anyway? “Hey! I went to Okinawa! I had an incredible time. I wish I could go back and visit my friends there.” Not very interesting conversation. It would be good to have an excuse to don a mustache, though.

Back on task, at the markets in Jocotepec, I encountered a funky brown fruit that I’ve been seeing around this winter. It’s called mamey. I brought one home to try.

This is the photo I ripped off Wikipedia. This is how they sell them here, too. I was just too embarrassed to take a photo of the vendors.



These are my shots.



I can’t say I was impressed by the mamey. It’s not bad, but not so great, either. It’s a pretty mediocre fruit. The outside is brown and rough; the inside is bright orange. It tastes kind of like a subtly sweet yam, and has a hearty weight to it. It’s more substantial than most fruits. The texture was smooth, kind of like a papaya or avocado. Apparently they’re native to southern Mexico.

If anyone has encountered the mamey before and knows of a delicious way to dress it up, please let me know. I’ll probably finish eating it with my ol’ fall back: lime and chili.